


what we have learned

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, post show, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 22:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: In a world where a symbol on the inside of your arm tells you who you're destined to be with, the Hargreeves children drew the short straw.





	what we have learned

**Author's Note:**

> the idea struck me suddenly and i had to write it! really pleased with how this turned out.
> 
> thanks to hannah for a speedy beta!! 
> 
> enjoy!

None of them had a choice in the matter, and sometimes that makes Five angriest of all.

Not the being bought like cattle. Not the grooming to become weapons. Not even the devastating lack of privacy. All of those things are negligible; Five can let go, move on, stop caring.

No, it’s the _soulmarks._

It isn’t as though Five is some sort of _romantic_. Sometimes, with all that he’s seen in the world, he’s not even sure how much he believes in soulmates. It’s such a ludicrous idea that there could be some sort of cosmic symbol on your skin that tells you who you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with. It’s totally insane.

But that doesn’t change the fact that not Five himself nor any of his siblings know what their soulmark even _is_. Because of those stupid fucking umbrella tattoos.

They were too young to even know what the little symbols on their arms meant, certainly not enough to pay attention to them. To _remember_ them. The joys of being secluded away from the rest of the world, with no public schooling. A curriculum picked out by none other than Reginald Hargreeves meant no learning about soulmarks.

Five sometimes stares at the stupid tattoo on his arm and wonders what lies underneath it. He knows his siblings do, too. He knows most of them try not to think about it too often, but he’s also seen the interviews where Allison would talk _around_ the subject when asked, and he’s seen the sad way Klaus thumbs over the inside of his arm sometimes. He remembers the time Diego tried to carve at his skin until Pogo had stopped him, and he knows the mark on Luther’s arm is scarred from his transformation.

And he knows Vanya wasn’t born with a mark at all, which is its own kind of hell.

“Are you staring at it again?” Vanya asks, startling Five from his thoughts. She’s standing in the doorway of their apartment, arms full of grocery bags. Five swings his legs off the couch and hurries over to her.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, taking a bag from her. “How was your day?”

Vanya shrugs, a lock of hair falling in front of her face. Five reaches out and pushes it behind her ear, then cups her cheek and bends down for a kiss. She meets him partway, going up on her tiptoes to do so. “Missed you,” she breathes when the gentle kiss breaks.

Five smiles. “Missed you too.” He hefts the bag in his arms and turns to head towards their tiny kitchen. He sets one bag on the counter then retrieves the other from her. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

A laugh bursts from Vanya’s mouth. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m getting better,” Five insists.

“No, you’re really not, Five.” She pats his cheek condescendingly. “We can make dinner together.” She bumps her hip against his companionably and says, “There’s some stuff that needs to go in the freezer first, though. Can you take care of those while I change?”

Five nods and steals another kiss before she slips to their bedroom. He unpacks the groceries methodically. He packs away the frozen things and leaves the non-perishables by the cupboard they call their “pantry,” even though it’s miniscule. Vanya comes back wearing one of his t-shirts and pajama pants that Five’s pretty sure are his, but Vanya steals them so often he’s not even sure it matters. The clothes don’t quite swamp her, although the shirt hangs well past her hips and the pajamas pool at her feet.

Vanya leans against the counter as Five continues putting things away, and stares at him. Watches him. He can feel her eyes on him like the sun beating down on a summer’s day.

“What?” He drawls as he puts the last of the frozen things away. The only things left on the counter now are what they need for dinner.

“You know it doesn’t matter, right?” She asks him. Her voice is almost unbearably soft.

Five’s eyes flit down to the tattoo on his arm, then the lack thereof on Vanya’s. “I know it doesn’t,” he says.

The curve of Vanya’s lips makes it clear she doesn’t believe him. It’s not a look that annoys him, but it is tiresome. He’s been reassured time and time again that soulmarks don’t matter, they don’t define a relationship or guarantee perfection. Nothing can do that. He _knows_ all of that.

He looks down at his tattoo again and thumbs over it. He grits his teeth against a flare up of annoyance, anger, resentment. Not at Vanya but at Reginald. At the universe, even, for not at least giving Vanya a mark in a world that was already so cruel to her.

“Five,” Vanya says, and suddenly she’s standing in front of him, toe to toe. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“I know that, Vanya!” Five immediately regrets the knife’s edge to his tone, but Vanya doesn’t seem perturbed. Softer, he continues, “I know it doesn’t matter.”

Vanya smiles sadly at him. “I’d love you regardless of what some stupid mark on our arms said.” She reaches for him and brings his arm to her lips. The touch is dry and gentle, right over his tattoo. She kisses the spot for a long time, just holding her lips to his skin. A lump forms in Five’s throat the longer Vanya stays still.

“Vanya,” he says, and for the first time in years, his voice cracks.

“I don’t know what your mark was, and I wish I could give that to you, a memory, or something.” She speaks first against his skin, and then to him directly as she lets his arm fall limp at his side. “But I can’t.”

Despite himself, Five flinches at the harsh honesty of her statement.

“Whatever your mark was, it doesn’t matter. Would it ever have mattered? Since I never had one.” Vanya lifts her own arm and taps at where her soulmark would be, or where the academy tattoo should’ve gone. “Would it matter, even if you had something like…” She laughs. “A music note? A violin? A ‘V,’ for my name? None of that would’ve _meant_ it was me.”

Five sucks in a frustrated breath through his teeth. “I know that,” he says again.

“I love _you_ , Five,” Vanya says, voice sterner. “Not because the universe tells me to, but because I’m _me_ and you’re _you_. That’s it.”

Five drags her close and wraps her in an abrupt hug. He presses his face against the top of her head, against her hair. “I love you too,” he murmurs. “I just...get so angry.”

“I know.” Vanya turns and presses a kiss to the skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt. “I get angry, too.”

Five holds her tighter. “Sometimes…” Five sighs. “Sometimes, I just think it would be nice to _know_. And it’s stupid, ridiculous, even. It _doesn’t_ matter. But we’ll never know for sure, and I _hate_ that he took that from us.”

“He took a lot from us.”

“That only makes it worse.”

Vanya leans back and meets Five’s gaze with her heavy, brown eyes, full of understanding and love and a touch of spitfire that always seems to surface when they discuss dear old dad. “He can’t take anything else from us.”

Five stares back at her. At the determined twist of her lips and the way her eyes narrow. The stiff line of her shoulders as she stands her ground.

“Not anymore, Five. He can’t take anything from us ever again.”

Five knows he can’t let go of this hatred. He knows this anger will always sit in his gut and fester, until inevitably he and Vanya have this talk again. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again. But he feels better, even if only a little bit. He feels soothed by Vanya’s conviction. Feels grounded by her certainty.

He doesn’t agree with her, nor does he promise they’ll never talk about this again. She knows it’s not true. He doesn’t tell her thanks, either; she knows he’s grateful. He gives her a brief smile and she gives him one in return.

He dips down to kiss her again and she meets him halfway, always.


End file.
